Counting Eggs
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: Russia and Lithuania think about the past and the future on Easter Sunday, 1913. Slightly Russia/Lithuania-ish.


AN: I tried to write a sweet, fluffy fic for Easter...and somehow it didn't turn out that way. Ugh. Happy Easter anyway, comrades.

"Look at this, Lithuania! Mr. Fabergé has really outdone himself this year!"

Lithuania's eyes moved past Russia's pointing finger to the newest jeweled egg before them. It _was_ very beautiful, but that was to be expected. Fabergé's Easter eggs were always beautiful things. This one was was made of gold, and rested on the heads of a three sided eagle. There was eighteen tiny portraits, all framed by diamonds, and those portraits...

"Look, it has a picture of every Romanov ruler I've had since 1613. Perfect to celebrate the tercentenary of their dynasty, da? See, here's Michael," Russia twisted the egg around to show the portraits on the other half, pointing to his first Romanov Tsar, before turning it back to the front. "And here's our Nicolas now, right there in the middle."

"It's lovely, Russia."

"It is, isn't it? Don't you think it's the prettiest one yet?"

"It's very nice, but I think I prefer the egg from 1909," Lithuania said without thinking, and instantly regretted it. Russia had been particularly sensitive to anyone disagreeing with him lately, but the larger country just rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful.

"The one with the tiny gold replicate of a yacht inside the egg? And all the lapis lazuli?"

"That's the one," Lithuania breathed, grateful that Russia wasn't in the sort of mood to be set off by a trifle today. "And the ship rests on rock crystal, to make it look like it sailing through the sea. Oh, but I suppose this year's egg must have special sentimental value for you."

"It does," Russia said softly, and suddenly looked strangely sad. "Three hundred years, it's difficult to believe. It goes by very fast, doesn't it?"

Lithuania paused, trying to decide how to answer. He hadn't been with Russia for all of those three hundred years, but the time he had spent with him hadn't gone by quickly at all. The days often blurred into each other, and it was difficult to tell if time was passing at all. And yet at other times he couldn't believe that it had been over a hundred years since he had come to this strange, cold place with this strange, cold man.

And since that very man was looking at him expectingly, Lithuania simply said, "Time _does_ move quickly," and that vague answer seemed to be enough. Russia had already turned his attention back to the egg, still with a melancholy look in his eyes. He ran a finger along the eagle at the base, and Lithuania couldn't help but notice that he touched it so delicately, with such care, as though he was afraid the trinket would be crushed under his large hands.

He had been very aware of his hands for the past few years. He hadn't been overly clumsy in the past, but now he seemed horribly aware of what those hands could do. It made Lithuania feel sick to think of it, but he believed it began on Bloody Sunday. He could still see the whole scene so clearly, Russia standing before the window with tears rolling down his face and a gun in his hands, the horrible sound of gunshots and screams that Lithuania could still hear even with his hands clamped over his ears...but the worst was after if was over, and Russia came back inside. There were gory splatters all over his coat and the dried tracks of tears still visible on his cheeks, and yet his expression was perfectly calm and empty. He didn't bother to take off the soiled coat, he just sat down as his desk and stared at his hands for the longest time with that same empty look in his eyes.

Something was different then, ever since that day. He was very careful when touching anything he saw as fragile, especially Nicolas' children. Lithuania could understand the need to be very cautious around Alexei, but lately he even treated the girls like they were made of glass. He seemed aware now of how easily he could break things.

Lithuania was jolted out of his memories when Russia suddenly jerked his hands away from the egg and buried them in his pockets. There was a smile on his face again, but it was a horribly forced thing.

"It worries me a bit, you see. Three hundred years, it's a long time. How much longer can they last? Even they can't last forever."

"They'll have another happy three hundred years," Lithuania blurted out. He didn't believe it in the least, but he needed to say something, anything at all. Russia could be so cold, so cruel. He knew he shouldn't feel any pity for Russia, but that never stopped the ache in his chest when he saw the other man in pain.

"Three hundred more years," Russia echoed, and turned to look at the smaller country with that heartbreaking smile. "No, a thousand more. A thousand more happy years for them. And many more happy Easters along the way, da?"

History Notes:

Of course, the Romanov dynasty doesn't get a thousand years, or three hundred years. They barely get another five.

But on to happier things. Peter Carl Fabergé was the man behind those famous Fabergé eggs you've probably heard about. Sixty-nine were made between 1885 and 1917. Alexander III was the first to commission a yearly jeweled Easter egg for his wife, and Nicolas II liked it so much that he continued the tradition after he became the Tsar.

The tercentenary celebration for the Romanovs in 1913 was quite the shindig, and with all big exciting events, Fabergé made one of his famous eggs to commemorate the event.

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